Stupid Horse!
by Bosmeri
Summary: An aspiring adventurer has a rather memorable encounter with the legendary Dragonborn, who turns out to be not at all what he expected…


Ever since the start of the war, it had become more and more of a rarity for strangers to pass through Rorikstead. As such, the arrival of a young woman on horseback, alone no less, was something of a curiosity for the simple farmers of the tiny village west of Whiterun. She wore dark-stained leather armor with a matching hood, and her horse was a dusty grey color. When she arrived in town late one summer evening, Erik happened to be working to repair a fence near the road, and was thus the first to greet her.

"Good day, milady," he greeted politely. "Can I help you with anything?"

He noticed that her saddle packs were bulging with unseen loot, and that she carried a great ebony battleaxe strapped to her back. An adventurer, surely, he thought with excitement.

"Yes, actually. Is there an inn where I can stay tonight?" she asked in reply. Her voice was young, but confident, and she spoke with a strange, crisp accent that Erik vaguely recognized from the occasional Dunmer trader that passed through on the way to or from the various mines of the area. However, when she lowered her hood, the woman's face revealed an ordinary Breton.

"Ah, that would be the Frostfruit Inn," stumbled Erik, a little confused by her conflicting accent. "It's just over there. My father runs it."

He looked her over once more. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way. Her hair was dark and cut short to the length of her chin, and her eyes were the color of steel. On one cheek were three jagged scars which appeared to have come from some great, clawed beast. Definitely an adventurer. His eyes strayed again to her weapon and armor, and before he could help it, he was blurting, "You look like you've seen your fair share of adventure. I envy you that." He hesitated. "I-In fact, maybe you can help me with something."

Erik immediately kicked himself. _You fool! What did you go and say that for!_ To his surprise, however, the Breton quirked her head and replied curiously, "What can I help you with, _sera?_"

Suddenly loosing his confidence, Erik mumbled, "Um, well, I want to be an adventurer like you, but my father says I can't. He says that he needs me to stay here and work the farm, and even if he did let me be an adventurer, we couldn't afford to buy armor. His name's Mralki, and he's the innkeeper here…"

By now Erik was blushing furiously. Saying it aloud made the situation feel so common, like he was nothing more than a teenage boy huffing about the unfairness of authority.

"I'll see what I can do," shrugged the Breton. If she was amused by his strange request, she hid it well. Erik was a bit startled.

"Oh! Thank you. Er, my name's Erik, by the way."

"Rhysan Mavis," she introduced herself. "Call me Rhys. Everyone does."

"Nice to meet you, Rhys. And thanks for the help. I can't stand the thought of being trapped in this village for the rest of my days. I hope you can change my father's mind. He can be a little stubborn."

She smiled at him briefly, then hopped down off her horse to lead it towards the inn. The dusty mare nickered and tossed its grey mane, and as the Breton tugged at the reins, Erik heard her scowl in her strange, displaced accent, "Oh, come on you dumb fetcher. And don't you even _think_ of biting me."

What a strange woman, thought Erik.

Inside the inn, Mralki was at the bar cleaning a few dull, metal tankards with a worn rag. He eyed the armored Breton warily when she entered, but nonetheless greeted her, "Welcome to the Frostfruit Inn, milady. If you need a meal or a room, I've got both."

The woman, Rhys, nodded, and when she approached the bar, it was then that Mralki noticed how tiny she was, even for a Breton. Though her armor made her appear slightly larger, the innkeeper realized she couldn't be more that five feet tall, if even that. No wonder she wore armor, in such a dangerous region this close to the Reach. He also wondered vaguely if she could even lift the enormous axe on her back, or if it was just for show.

"Much obliged, _sera_. I'd like both, since you're offering."

"Ten septims for the night, five for a meal. Drinks are separate," recited Mralki. "Cash only. No bartering."

Rhys nodded and casually fished out fifteen septims from a bulging coin purse.

"That's an interesting accent you have for a Breton," he commented conversationally as he fetched a bowl of stew for his guest. "Ashlander, from the sound of it."

Rhys took the meal gratefully and nodded, "I grew up in Morrowind, so I come by it honestly. Never actually been to High Rock. Markarth's as far east as I've ever been."

"I see," said Mralki. "I hear Morrowind's a dangerous place to live."

The small woman chuckled. "You heard right."

She paused, considering, then continued, "I met your son Erik outside. Nice young man. He wanted me to talk to you actually…"

The next morning, Erik awoke earlier that usual. He hadn't slept well that night. After returning to the inn the previous night from the fields, his father had been rather silent and withdrawn, and he knew Rhys must have spoken to him. However, Mralki hadn't said a word to him besides his usual, "Goodnight, son."

After he had dressed and helped himself to a small breakfast of homemade bread and cheese, Erik headed outside to begin his chores, despite the early hour. As he exited the inn, he spotted Rhys untying her horse from the railing of the inn, apparently preparing to leave.

"Oh, good morning," greeted Rhys. Her horse tugged impatiently at his lead, but Rhys merely glared at the headstrong animal and hissed, "Knock it off!" and he settled for the moment.

"Good morning," replied Erik tensely. "Did you…?"

"Speak to your father? Yes, I did. At some length. He's a good man, really, if a little protective. He changed his mind, though."

"Really?" exclaimed Erik excitedly. "I can't thank you enough, friend. I don't know what you said to convince him, but I'm in your debt."

"No problem," shrugged Rhys. "Anything to help out a fellow… Oi, stop it!"

She rubbed her shoulder. Apparently the horse had bitten her.

"Stupid Nord horse," she muttered. "Anyway, your father's all set to get you some armor."

"Again, I can't thank you enough. You've been…"

However, whatever he was about to say was lost in the booming roar that echoed from above at that moment, staggering them both.

"What was _that?_" demanded Erik.

Rhys was already on her feet and drawing her enormous axe.

"Dragon," she hissed. "You got a weapon, adventure-boy?"

"Uh, an axe," replied the farmhand lamely. Rhys shook her head. "That won't do against a dragon. Grab my bow and quiver from my saddle and get ready to start shooting. Do _not_ lose it."

"I-okay," sputtered Erik, nodding. If ever there was a time to prove himself, now was it. He fumbled with the ties attaching Rhys' bow and quiver, both ebony, to the frightened horse's saddle before finally freeing it.

He looked around for Rhys and found her standing in the middle of the road, staring intently at the dragon as it circled overhead.

"If there's anyone outside, get them to safety!" she called without breaking her gaze. Erik looked around. In the distance, he saw two guards running towards the commotion, but other than that, none of the villagers were visible. This early, no one was likely to be out and about, although it was likely that the entire village had been roused by the thunderous roar.

"Have you ever done this before?" asked Erik, and he was proud to say that his voice barely even shook.

She bobbed her head "Yeah. Aim for the wings. They're a weak point."

Erik nodded, held his breath, and drew back the string of the bow. Taking only a moment to aim, he released. The arrow punctured the sensitive membrane of the dragon's wing near the tip, and the creature howled in anger as it turned its attention on its attacker. Great. Now what?

"Get back!" shouted Rhys as the dragon turned its scaly head towards Erik and let free a gale of icy frost. The farmhand leaped aside and hit the ground just as the spot he had just been standing was engulfed in ice. He clipped his shoulder on a protruding root, but was otherwise unharmed.

"I thought dragons breathed fire!"

"This one's a frost dragon," called back Rhys. "Keep down for a second."

She braced her feet and faced the dragon as it swooped low, heading right for her. Was she mad? Erik was about to call out to her, but then Rhys took a deep breath and shouted in a voice that shook the very hills, "**_YOL TOOR SHUL!_**"

Fire exploded from her mouth, and the dragon, blinded, howled in pain. It careened sideways, tumbling over its own wings, and finally crashed into the hills west of the village. Rhys went sprinting towards the dust rising from the site, and Erik hurried after her, bow drawn. By now, villagers were beginning to peer fearfully from their doors, and Erik called back in warning, "Stay inside!"

Stumbling over the ridge, he tripped and nearly fell in shock at the enormity of the downed beast. Wings as big as sails churned the air as Rhys lunged at the beast's exposed side. Its body alone was more than twice the size of the largest mammoth, and each limb was thick as a tree trunk, ending in claws like sabres. And then there was its head. Its horned head was as long as Erik was tall, and its mouth was equipped with two rows of dagger-like teeth as long as his hand. One bite would be enough to rip him in half, should he get too close. Strangely, however, Erik barely felt his fear. With a steady hand, he drew back his bow and aimed for the sensitive shoulder joint where the wings joined the rest of the dragon's body. The dragon roared in pain and whipped around to locate the new source of pain. This momentary distraction gave Rhys the opportunity she needed. Springing from the ground like an enraged feline, she leaped at the dragon with her battleaxe raised and swung it down with a sickening crack just behind its head. The beast screamed once, twitched, then fell limply to the ground.

By the Gods, she had actually done it! Erik let his jaw drop as Rhys slumped to the ground in exhaustion, heaving a sigh of relief.

Then, something strange was happening. Light suddenly began to swirl from the body of the dragon, growing brighter and brighter until its entire body was consumed by it. Then the light was shooting from the dragon's body straight into Rhys'. Erik ran towards her, fearful, but the light was so bright that he couldn't even see the tiny Breton. All around him, the light swirled, and there was a rushing sound. He covered his head, fearing some kind of magical eruption, but then the light was suddenly gone, and Rhys sat up, still glowing but looking only mildly uncomfortable. In front of her, the skeletal husk of the dragon lay unmoving and eerily white with its gleaming, naked bones.

Funny, it didn't seem nearly as big now.

"I can't believe it! You're… Dragonborn!"

Rhys and Erik both looked up. It seems the two guards had finally caught up.

"Aw, shucks, you caught me," quipped Rhys, groaning as she pushed herself up from the ground and dusted herself off. Erik finally found his voice.

"You…You took its soul!" he breathed in awe.

Rhys rolled her shoulder stiffly and replaced her hood, which had been knocked askew during the fight.

"I didn't 'take' anything, actually. It came to me. I can't help absorbing dragons' souls. They just come to me."

"How many dragons have you slain?"

"Too many," she replied, frowning, and Erik thought that was a rather strange answer. "C'mon. I need food. I'm always hungry after…that."

She made a vague gesture, and Erik assumed she was referring to absorbing the dragon's soul. Dumbly, Erik nodded and together they walked back to the inn, where the entire village was waiting nervously.

* * *

After they had both recounted the brief battle to the eager ears of the village people over and over, with Rhys giving Erik a lot more credit than he felt he deserved and subtly painting him as a hero, the tiny Dragonborn was finally able to depart.

Outside, he helped her re-pack her horse while the rest of the village meandered around to see her off as well.

"Here's your bow back," mumbled Erik, running his thumb over the curious, black bird insignia once more before handing it to her. It was a fine bow, and Erik hoped that one day he'd be able to afford one like it through his adventures.

"Thanks," smiled Rhys, hooking it back in its place. Then she suddenly stuck out her hand, grinning.

"Good luck, Erik the Slayer."

Erik laughed and shook her hand gratefully (his hand was so large it completely covered hers). "You too, Rhysan the Dragonborn. You'll have to visit me in Rorikstead sometime."

The tiny Breton cocked her head. "Whatever for? You won't be here."

"I suppose you're right," chuckled Erik. "Thanks. For everything."

"Don't mention it. You'll make a good adventurer. You're quite brave, you know. Not all men would've blindly taken on a dragon with me like that."

Erik flushed, but accepted the compliment. "Thanks. Maybe we'll run into each other in some crypt somewhere."

Rhys laughed. "I certainly hope so, friend. Look me up if you're ever in Riften."

"I will. See you around, I guess," said Erik. Then he glanced over Rhys' shoulder.

"…Erm, isn't that your horse?"

Rhys whipped around. Half a mile down the road, her horse was plodding unhurriedly in the opposite direction. Without her. Swearing vehemently in Dunmeri, Rhys the Dragonborn took off after it without another word. As she sprinted away like a madwoman, the gathered townspeople could hear the little Breton's shouts echoing over the hills even after she was out of sight.

_"Get back here! I swear to Mephala I'm selling you for shoe leather! Arador, you stupid bloody horse!"_

* * *

De-anon from the kink meme, and part of the Rhys series of stories. Please, drop a review if you enjoyed it. They make me smile a lot.


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